making the most of where you are

If you knew the actual date when someone close to you was going to die, would you treat them differently as the day drew nearer? Would you make an effort to make more? More memories, more laughter, more lasagna. If you knew, would your hug until he let go first? Is there any way to purposefully savor a moment when we can’t choose what we’ll remember?

Sure, all the time we hear how we should live in the moment, take note of the smallest gifts, appreciate nature and our surroundings, that no time is more important than *this* time, now. Then we let too much of the day in. Schedules. Bank deposits. The rain. And before long, there’s someone nagging us to live in the moment again. To avoid missing the life we have right now. I’m trying to do it now, just as I had before leaving New York, relishing everything that makes me love Austin for being Austin. That’s the thing with choosing your favorite place to live. Instead of appreciating each for their own extraordinary gifts, we string everything up in comparisons—talking in a code of “more” or “less.”

New York has more energy.
More grit, soul, and stink.

Austin is less crowded,
has more manners and meat.

Instead, love what you can—about anyplace or anyone.

Go on, make a list of love. Mine’s up next.